Rebuilding
by Zeitlose Alters
Summary: Sequel to "Just a Place To Stay". It's been about a year since Bucky showed up looking for Steve. He is remembering his past, and is working on becoming normal again. But that is not as easy as either of them think. Stucky fluff, and some minor lemons.
1. The Coming Year

**Hello, im back with another one for all you Stucky fans! This is a sequel to my other fic "Just A Place To Stay" so if you haven't already, I recommend reading that before you continue, otherwise this one will be a tad confusing. So with out any further delay...the not-so-long-awaited sequel...**

* * *

"Bucky's late. He said he'd be back by 6," Steve said over the phone to Natasha.

It had been a little over a year since Bucky first showed up on Sam's doorstep looking for Steve. He was starting to remember his life, and while it was mostly the happy times during Steve and his friendship, there was also the memories of his days as the Winter Soldier. Once in a while, he get jarred by a memory, or a nightmare, and Steve would be there for him. There were those rare nights where Steve would wake up to a knife at his throat - like when Bucky first stayed with him - or to Bucky screaming from inside a nightmare. Those times were decreasing, thankfully, and (surprisingly) Bucky had taken up cooking as a secondary means of recovery.

"Steve, he's 95. I'm sure Bucky can go for groceries on his own," she condescended.

Before Steve could reply, he heard the lock click and the door opened. Bucky walked in carrying four grocery bags. Steve hung up on Natasha, and got up to help Bucky with the groceries. The two set the bags on the countertop and began unpacking. Bucky took his jacket off and pulled his long hair out of a ponytail. Steve was very protective of the ex-assassin and he always took precautions when Bucky would leave the apartment - like large hoodies.

"Sorry I'm late," he brunette admitted as he stuffed some oranges into a refrigerator drawer, "but there was only one person working the checkout. I'll start on dinner soon."

"S'okay. I'm going to take a shower in a little while so try not to burn the place down," Steve joked while he stocked the freezer with ice cream.

Bucky dramatically placed his metal hand over his heat and feigned hurt, "I am appalled that you could even think of such a maniacal idea!" he went back to organizing cans in the pantry, "but, how does spaghetti sound?"

"Delicious," the captain smiled as he walked into the bathroom.

He took his shirt off halfway and Bucky's eyes fixed on some scars from since-healed bullet holes. He knew that he caused them during the fight in the Helicarrier. And he knew not to focus on them because Steve would do the same thing he always did. He'd take Bucky's face in his hands and tell him that he couldn't help shooting because it wasn't _him_ shooting. Steve would make him repeat it until he felt better, whether that meant saying it two times or twenty.

"Bucky, I know what your thinking about," Steve called from the bathroom over the shower, "say it."

He mumbled "no". But, with his super-soldier hearing, Steve still heard and told him to repeat the line to himself.

"It's not my fault, because it wasn't me shooting."

"Louder," Steve ordered.

"It's not my fault because it wasn't me shooting!" the ex-assassin yelled just to shut him up.

"Better."

Bucky pulled a pot out from a drawer under the oven, filled it with water, and set it to boil. He rummaged through the pantry until he found a box of spaghetti. It was a nice change from the military food he had become forcibly accustomed to, and, since he didn't have any way to earn a living, it kept him from feeling like a leech. Which is also why he did most of the cleaning. He looked behind his shoulder.

_The water still has a while to go..._

His file wasn't exactly hidden. Steve tried, but he didn't do a very good job. It was in the freezer, in a Ziploc bag, in the bottom drawer, under a bag of frozen peas. He had snuck it out a few times without Steve knowing. The whole thing was in Russian, so it's not like the captain could read it, even if he wanted to. Bucky was silent when he did it; compared to all the stealth work he'd done in the past, sneaking a bag of peas out of place was child's play.

He lifted the bag up silently with his metallic hand, the metal twitched as it adjusted to the familiar cold. His human hand pulled the file from under the bag before he set it down. He left the freezer open and pulled the folder from the bag. Bucky opened it and the first thing that greeted him was the picture of him frozen in his chamber. Ice had prickled around the edge of the paper and made it seem all the more realistic...Bucky could help but graze his human hand over it. He heard the water turned off and a few moments later the door opened. Bucky shoved the file back in its bag and under the peas. The door closed not a second too soon. As Steve walked to the bedroom with a towel around his waist, the ex-assassin rushed back over to the boiling pot and threw the noodles in. He hastily tied his hair back, and started dicing up a tomato.

Steve emerged from the bedroom dressed in some red, plaid, pajama bottoms and a baggy, white T-Shirt. He snuck behind Bucky and plucked a noodle from the boiling pot. The brunette slapped at his hand, signaling for him to sit down and butt out of the kitchen.

* * *

"Hey, Buck, look what's on!" Steve called excitedly from the couch.

"I'm a little busy at the moment! The sauce is gonna boil over if I'm not careful!" he called over the sound of the television and swore in Russian.

The TV blared the announcement, "National Geographic presents, the life and service of Captain America."

Steve coaxed Bucky over to the sofa while the ex-assassin clicked the stove off and shoveled the spaghetti onto two plates. He came into the living room, handed a plate to the captain, and sat down on the couch with his own food.

"Careful with the sauce. It's kinda runny...I think I might have added to much water..."

"It's fine, Bucky. I certainly can't come near this."

The pair sat watching the documentary and occasionally mocked the over-glorified commentary. They showed some old reels of Steve when he was still scrawny and both of them almost spit food everywhere laughing when the narrator said that "Steve's lean body type was due to the fact that he had an unusually high metabolism" (which they both knew was a lie). The program moved into the wartime segments and Steve could see Bucky periodically tensing when information on each of the Howling Commandoes came on. The one that came last was Bucky's information and how he was the only Commando to give his life for Captain America.

"I'm getting something to drink," he said as he went for the kitchen.

Steve knew what was going on. Every now and then something would phase him, like this. It rarely happened, but a few weeks ago when Steve suggested that he cut his hair, Bucky refused it; he said that it reminded him too much of a past he no longer had. The brunette came back at the wrong moment. The program began introducing Hydra and gave some facts about Dr. Zola. Steve could see that Bucky had seen enough and switched the TV off. He helped with the dishes before they both went into the bedroom to crash.

Steve was just about to fall asleep, unlike Bucky who was already snoring over on the futon a few feet away, when his phone went off. The ex-assassin groaned in disgust at being woken up, and Steve apologized as he answered. It was Natasha.

"You know its rude to hang up on people?"

"You know its rude to call in the middle of the night?" Steve shot back groggily.

"I'm going to be nice to you. I'm taking you and Snowflake shopping tomorrow -"

Bucky mumbled from across the room, "stop calling me 'Snowflake'."

"It's a gift from Fury. To help, as he put it, blend. Meet me at the mall at noon. The Starbucks in the food court," she said before hanging up.

Steve informed Bucky, who replied with another tired groan of an answer. The captain was already thinking on the overprotective side. If going out in public posed a potential risk for Bucky, a mall was at least twice that.

_Great._


	2. Cruel Irony

Steve and Bucky had met Natasha at the Starbucks, ordered coffee, and browsed the stores for anything the brunette might like. As far as the two knew, Director Fury had given Natasha a card linked to a well-stocked account, so they pretty much had free reign. Bucky had left the apartment anyway he usually would, hair back in a ponytail and a large hoodie with the hood hiding his face. He mostly kept his hands shoved deep into the pockets, or covered by the sleeves.

Urban Outfitters, Levi's, and the latter half of the mall had all been busts. They didn't even dare try Abercrombie when Bucky saw the skinny jeans on the mannequin. Nothing was working, and Steve was getting the feeling that they were being followed. It wasn't hard to understand though. There was three familiar looking men (one bald with a blonde-grey goatee, a blonde female with her hair in braids, and one with spiked black hair) that went into every shop they went to, every floor, every escalator. It wasn't until they had been standing in line for a pretzel stand that they realized who they were dealing with. Natasha asked Steve and Bucky to hold their spot in line while she went to the bathroom. Walking back, she noticed the outline of a handgun under their shirts and an ear piece in their ears. They weren't mall security, she knew that. Mall cops usually don't stalk specific targets. She walked up to Steve and Bucky, and pulled them out of line. They walked for the mall doors, and sure enough, Baldie, Braids and Spikes followed.

Once they were out of the mall, Natasha led them through a maze of a parking garage until they ended up a floor from their car. Baldie, Braids and Spikes were still following them, but had now moved up on them. Steve stopped and held a hand out for Bucky and Natasha to stop as well. He could hear their pursuers stop also. That and the safeties of a few guns click off. Steve turned and punched Spikes in the jaw while Bucky engaged Baldie, and Natasha took on Braids.

Steve was struggling to punch his attacker, while simultaneously trying to avoid the gun. The captain managed to land a knee in Spikes's gut before being tripped back onto the pavement. The assailant pointed the gun at Steve. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, Steve's foot kicked the gun away, and the weapon flew to the ground.

Natasha, who was busy trying to strangle her opponent with her thighs and a choke-cord, pulled Braids to the ground and lunged for the gun. Braids pulled hers out and began shooting at Natasha. However, she was too quick and jumped between shots. When she was two feet from the attacker, Natasha swept her leg along the ground and knocked Braids down to the ground before pinning the enemy down onto the floor.

"Who do you work for?" Natasha demanded and held the gun the the woman's forehead, "Hydra?"

"Strike...force."

Natasha didn't react; she only fired two shots into Braids's head.

While Steve was in the middle of an MMA match and Natasha was finished with her target, Bucky had pulled a knife from somewhere on his person and was stabbing and slashing at Baldie.

The older man was using his forearms in deflecting the blade and when Bucky lunged for the opponents torso, he was grabbed by the neck and held up in the air. He grasped at the Arm holding him, but it did no good. Baldie pulled his gun out and was about to shoot Bucky when Natasha's boot collided with his face. All at once, he dropped Bucky and shot. Steve looked over to see of the bullet had hit his friend. The ex-assassin froze for a second, but continued when he felt no pain.

At sparing a glance in Bucky's direction, Steve had gotten him kicked to the ground, where he was now curled in a ball getting the living crap kicked out of him. Spikes was holding the gun over him once more, but Steve managed to look over his shoulder and saw a gun lying a few feet way. Spikes flipped Steve onto his back with his foot and ground his heel into the captains ribcage, where he could feel a couple ribs break. On the next kick, the captain grabbed his opponents leg and swung him on his back with just enough time to grab the gun. Steve jumped to his feet and landed a few bullets on Spikes's chest.

Bucky scrambled for his knife while Natasha pulled her choke-cord tighter on Baldie's neck. The brunette couldn't find his knife, so he just grabbed the nearest gun he got his metal hand on. As he turned back, Baldie slipped Bucky's knife from behind his back and cut the choke-cord; sending Natasha somersaulting backwards. He lunged at Bucky and, before the ex-assassin could aim, had plunged the knife into his metal arm. Bucky screamed in pain as the blade was pushed deeper into his artificial limb. Baldie pried the gun from Bucky's hand and shoved it into his torso just below his stomach.

There were two gunshots.

Steve ran over and tackled the man to the ground while Natasha ran over to Bucky. The captain landed punch after punch on the assailant, and by this point he didn't care that he had three broken ribs. He didn't care that his knuckles were beaten raw. And he didn't care about anything else but Bucky.

"Who the hell do you work for?!"

"Ask your girlfriend..." he trailed off while Steve continued his assault.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw a gun laying next to a car and reached for it. He squeezed a bullet into the dead center of Baldie's forehead. He heard a scream from behind him and reality snapped back.

Steve ran over to Bucky and Natasha just as she finished pulling the knife from his metal arm - which he was holding over his bleeding torso.

"Can you still move it?" she asked quietly once Steve was over.

Bucky nodded and moved his metallic hand the best he could. The silver palm was painted over with scarlet blood.

"He's got three shots in him," Natasha stated bluntly.

"Three? But I thought -"

"The first shot wasn't a miss, Steve. The car's the next floor up. Can you carry him?"

Steve didn't reply. He pulled Bucky up into his arms like a bride and they made for the elevator. The jolting of the creaky elevator made Bucky cry out some more, and Steve's heart dropped. When they got to the car, Steve laid Bucky on the backseat and climbed in after him. Natasha said she had a gym bag with some clothes and towels they could use in the trunk. The trunk door opened and there was an exasperated sigh.

"You kept your shield in my trunk?" she asked pointedly as she threw him the bag.

Once again Steve didn't answer. He tore Bucky's shirt and jacket off as Natasha sped from the garage and made a phone call. The two in his torso were right next to each other, with the third was in his right shoulder.  
"Where are we going? He's gotta go to a hospital, Natasha!" Steve snapped as the landscape become taken over by trees.

"Temporary HQ," she said and put her phone down.

Steve suddenly remembered this place. It was where they had found Fury alive and where they had been after the fight on the bridge - when Steve first discovered what had become of Bucky. He found it an odd sense of irony as he held the waded clothes tighter over Bucky's wounds.

* * *

**OH NO WHATS GONNA HAPPEN TO BUCKY?! well...you have to wait for that one. I bet thought this was gonna be some sweet rehab style fluffy, and we were both wrong. That's the first fight scene I've written in forever so I hope its decent. I'll get chapter three up as soon as I can. Until then...**


	3. So, Off to New York Then?

**a big thank you to everyone who reviewed/followed/favorited! the chapters might be coming a tad later this weekend just bc I'll be busy, but I'll try to update ASAP.**

**and in case you guys don't get the reference, the tunnel/secret HQ thing is the same one from Winter Soldier where Steve, Sam, and Natasha went after the fight on the bridge.**

* * *

The black Corvette stopped inside a large tunnel, one that Steve and Natasha were familiar with. Steve got out fist and helped Bucky out. He pulled the brunette's human arm around his shoulders and pulled him from the seat that he was laying on. Bucky winced when he tried to stand and would have fallen to his knees if Steve hadn't caught him. He leaned on the captain and struggled not to pass out while he held the waded clothes against his wounds. Natasha made another phone call while Steve and Bucky stood to the side.

Natasha quickly hung up, "follow me. I called ahead and reserved a table."

There was a thick, metal, door along the side of the tunnel that opened into another tunnel where the three were met with Maria Hill and a stretcher.

"You never told me you were bringing the Winter Soldier here!" Maria snapped as her hand prepared to grab her gun.

Bucky shot her a menacing glare from behind a veil of tousled hair. Steve ignored her and picked Bucky up. He laid him on the stretcher and followed Natasha to some sort of medical ward. Once they entered, a team of surgeons pulled the ex-assassin's clothes off and prepared for an operation. One of the nurses coaxed Steve and Natasha out.

"Wait, can h-he stay...?" Bucky asked from behind the oxygen mask the surgeon had placed over his mouth.

No one answered him, and he reached his metallic arm out for Steve as the door closed in front of the captain. Another nurse nodded to one of the surgeons and the oxygen mask was swapped out for an anesthesia mask. Bucky tried not to fall asleep, but it was losing battle and he quickly fell under.

* * *

Steve and Natasha sat in what served as a break room. Actually, Steve paced the room and Natasha was typing away on laptop. There was a couple of vending machines in the corner, so they could at least eat. When they first sat down, Maria had questioned them as to why they were bringing an ex-assassin to the "secret" base. Apparently Natasha had kept them out of the loop. Steve started from opening the door at three in the morning, to the parking garage. The whole thing only took about an hour. The other two were spent on silence, aside from the pacing footsteps.

"You should sit down," she spoke lightly, "relax. Hell, take a nap even."

The captain shook his head and continued pacing, "it won't help. I didn't picture this. What if something goes wrong in there?"

"It won't."

"It's been three hours! I'm sorry if I'm worried. This wasn't supposed to happen...some Hydra agents weren't supposed to find us!"

"They weren't Hydra. They were Strike Force," Natasha corrected.

Steve was silent. After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. he hadn't expected Strike Force to still be running ops. But his mind turned back to Bucky. A few rooms away, he was laying on a table cut open with bullets being pulled from his flesh. The door squeaked open and a nurse walked in. Steve stared at her bloodied scrubs - almost horrified. She pulled the mask off her face and dropped it in the waste bin by the door.

"He came through, but he won't be awake for a few more hours. He's been given a fair amount of morphine. Unfortunately, we couldn't do anything for the..." she searched for the correct term, "...metal arm. He's in the last room to the left."

Steve jogged after her, but silently walked into the room through the door of plastic strips held agape for him. Once Natasha was in, it slid closed. It felt wierd that this room had Director Fury laying on the same bed, but not enough to stop Steve from occupying the chair closest to the bed. A monitor beeped in a steady rhythm with the oxygen machine. Wires stretched from Bucky's chest and the oxygen mask fogged up with the slow rise and fall of his chest. His bare chest was bandaged heavily, but a couple fleck of red snuck through the white gauze. The brunette's arms laid at his sides and the metal one looks no different from earlier. There was still the knife hole in it and the silver palm was tinted a scarlet red. Natasha took a chair by the door and continued typing, but Steve looked over Bucky. A lock of hair fell over Bucky's eyes and Steve reached up to brush it away. The captain retracted his arm and blankly stared at his thumbs while he pointlessly twiddled them.

Bucky half opened his eyes and looked around the room. The grey, concrete walls were uninviting and made the room cold. Natasha was sitting by the plastic door on a laptop and there were monitors circling his bed. He looked to his left and saw some more monitors and a tray of food. Bucky looked down at his metal arm, but his hopes dispersed when he found it in no better shape then when they had left the garage. His eyes caught on Steve sitting next to the bed, staring down at the floor. Bucky mustered up very ounce of strength he could to tap Steve's shoulder.

"Steve..." he managed to whisper hoarsely through the oxygen mask on his face.

The captain looked up, "so much for being knocked out for a few hours. Are you okay? Anything hurt?"

Bucky eyed his bandaged body, "just my head. How long was I under?"

"About three hours. Here," Steve handed him some water.

The ex-assassin took it and gratefully drained the cup. In truth, he lied about being fine. Everything hurt. Morphine didn't work on him anymore; he could thank Hydra for that. But Steve didn't need to know that. Natasha finally looked up from her laptop when she head footsteps. Maria walked in.

"Awake and alive, I see," she directed the crass remark towards Bucky, "Agent Maria Hill."

Bucky side-eyed Steve, then returned his focus. He pulled the mask off and spoke, "I don't remember meeting you."

"No...'Bucky' Barnes hasn't met me. However, the Winter Soldier has...in a way."

He shivered at the comment and Steve rose to his feet. Natasha closed her laptop to intervene as well.

"Can I see you aside?" Natasha half asked, half ordered as she put a hand on Maria's shoulder and led her into the far corner of the room.

While the two women spoke, Steve turned his attention back to Bucky and sat back down. The ex-assassin worked on flexing his metal hand. He noticed that it was getting a little harder to move the fingers. Steve watched him and also saw the trouble he was having. The captain put a hand over Bucky's for a few seconds, signaling for him to take a break.

"I'm sorry, Bucky."

"Say it."

"What?"

"It wasn't your fault because it wasn't _you_ shooting. Say it."

Steve gave a small laugh at the irony and adjusted Bucky's blankets. The two women stepped back over and Natasha forfeited her laptop to Steve, who opened it and stared at the screen, confused. Bucky craned his neck up to try and see the screen. It showed several tabs, everything in Russian so it was a dead giveaway why Steve was confused, and some specs for his metal arm.

"Where'd you get those?" Bucky asked and plucked the computer from Steve.

"I have connections. What I was getting at was that someone's gotta fix that arm, or it's gonna turn to scrap metal. Don't think I didn't see you a few seconds ago."

Bucky turned his eyes down apologetically.

"Anyways," Natasha continued, "the only person who knows that kind of technology is Stark."

"And he's **not **coming here," Maria cut it.

"So...we have to go to New York?" Steve asked reluctantly.

The women nodded and the captain glanced down at Bucky, the back to Natasha. Maria stepped out. Somehow, they had to take Bucky to New York, and into Stark's tower.

_Great_.


	4. Repairs and Redemption

**okay...I know the Bucky meeting Tony over his metal arm plot has been done a couple of times before, and I am in no way stealing other peoples ideas so I apologize if it seems like i am. I will admit that I was _INSPIRED_ by the ****idea, but credit is still given where credit is due. Some of Bucky and Tony's meeting is inspired by a tumblr post. Ahead of time: I'm following the marvel plot line so this is set AFTER IronMan 3...so just a clarification.**

* * *

They had been driving for five hours. Bucky was laying in the back seat, under a blanket, still freshly bandaged. He had fallen asleep the second Natasha started driving. In a hasty attempt to leave, the staff had given him his old clothes back, but since they had to cut the shirt, he just wore the hoodie, cargo pants, and boots. The Corvette stopped at a light along the outskirts of New York City. Steve glanced back at Bucky (who was curled up in some form of a ball) for the thousandth time.

"Steve, he'll be fine," Natasha said, "let him rest."

"I can't help it. He just woke up and now were dragging him off to New York. It can't be good for him," the captain sighed from the passenger seat.

"You saw him earlier, it's for his own good. The arm's gotta be fixed."

The car drove over an unseen speed bump going about 60 mph. Steve and Natasha bounced up and down in the front seat, and Bucky was jostled awake...painfully, but still groggy.

"Ow...speed bumps exist for a reason," he mumbled from the back and snuggled deeper into his pillow.

Steve looked back at him, but Natasha grabbed his cheek and turned it back to the front.

* * *

5 HOURS EARLIER

Steve and Natasha were arguing in the corner. He was saying that they shouldn't head for New York _just_ yet and that they should wait at least a week for Bucky'a condition to improve before putting him in a car for six plus hours. She was arguing that they should leave as soon as possible because waiting might cause permanent damage to either Bucky, his metal arm, or quite possibly both. Meanwhile, Bucky was still working at flexing his artificial hand. But it wasn't moving. At all.

"Hey, Steve...I think we have a problem," he called from the bed, "it's my left arm. I-I can't move it."

That was the turning point. The moment Natasha had ordered Steve to take Bucky to Stark. And when he looked at the ex-assassin's worried puppy eyes, there was no hesitation. They helped him with his clothes, carried him to the car, and sent a pillow and blanket after him.

* * *

Avengers Tower was visible from where they sat in traffic. Storm clouds gathered over head and a clap of thunder sent rain pouring down. Steve groaned angrily and Natasha laughed a little at his disposition. Before either of them could retort back, the Corvette's phone rang off and the message Incoming Call: Tony Stark came on the little screen. Natasha pushed a button on the steering wheel and Tony's voice came through the speakers as she found a parking spot on the curb by the lobby door.

"Pleasant surprise, Capsicle, it's been awhile. Wave at the security cam."

"We need a favor. It involves —"

He cut the captain off, "—your old war buddy...I know. Thank Ms. Maria for that," Tony mocked.

"Can we meet you in the lobby?" Natasha asked and circled her finger around the phone button of the wheel, anxiously.

"No. But, Jarvis —" he was hung up on mid sentence.

Steve got out first to help Bucky out. He had to shake him to wake him up, and pulled him out by his human arm. He was careful of the bandages around the ex-assassin's side when he helped him stand. Natasha held the door open for the two men as they made their way in. The lobby was empty and the elevator opened a few seconds later. They shuffled in and the doors closed while the elevator pulled up. The numbers clicked up, and when it hit seventeen, Bucky eyed Steve with a questioning look.

"Twenty-three floors of, quote: 'billionaire, playboy, philanthropist' vanity," Steve said and rolled his eyes.

Natasha corrected him, "twenty-five."

The elevator stopped at floor and the doors opened on twenty-two. It was clearly Tony's technical lab, with hologram projections of various cars and stray motherboards were strewn everywhere. When the three walked in, Jarvis announced them and Tony rolled out from under a hot-rod.

"So...you're Cap's freeze-dried boyfriend?" he slid his finger down in the air and a see-through, holographic screen on Bucky's military record came down. He skimmed it over and swiped it away.

Steve shot him a pissed off glare, "did you get the specs Natasha sent?"

"Yes. And Russian is hard as hell to translate," he swiped his foot along the leg of an office chair and brought it around, "alright...have a seat and let's crack this puppy open."

"He is definitely Howard Stark's kid," Bucky mumbled to Steve under his breath.

With some help from Steve, Bucky took off the jacket and eased into the chair. Tony pulled up a stool and looked it over. He shook his head and pulled up the specs on a nearby laptop.

"I saw the videos of you ripping doors off and throwing people across rooms...but good god, did you stab yourself with a knife?"

"You could say that."

"The Winter Soldier _does_ have a voice..." Tony muttered.

Bucky really wanted to punch him—just one right-hook square on his shitty billionaire goatee. He gladly would've, had Tony not been trying to save his arm. Tony welded a section of plating off and began repairing the wires. He started laughing quietly to himself.

"So tell me...Bucky...did you ever _do the do_ with the red, white, and blue?"

Natasha started laughing so hard she had to steady herself on a table, so as not fall on the floor. However, Steve's cheeks burned deep red while his expression reflected his fury.

"Tony! You are such an inappropriate jackass!" he yelled, but his voice trailed off nervously and he mumbled to himself, "I don't know how anybody stands you..."

"Steve," Bucky glared at the captain, "I never want to meet the rest of these people."

"I'm going to ignore that. But you guys sure made a big fuss over nothing. Seriously, just a couple of wires got cut. Sure, they were the main motor-sensory wires, but that's all."

Tony carefully replaced the plating, and had Bucky move his arm, fingers, and wrist. Steve gave a long-awaited sigh of relief.

"Take the star off," Bucky half asked, half ordered.

"Off? Like, gone?"

"Yeah. I want it gone."

Tony kicked his foot against a filing cabinet and a drawer slid out. He pulled a small bottle from it. The clear liquid inside looked like water and Bucky arched an eye brow.

"Look, kid. This is the best paint stripper anyone will ever produce. I should know because I made it," he bragged and reached for a cotton ball, "it'll take the paint out of paint."

Tony dripped a couple drops on the cotton ball and rubbed it over the star on Bucky's shoulder. After a few seconds, it was gone completely. The ex-assassin smiled at the fact that he was as far away from being the Winter Soldier as he possibly could be. This was a step towards normal for him.

It was, in a way, redemption.


	5. New Home

**okay...so this chapter is hella late And I'm hella sorry. Writers block is the worst thing on the planet (so are finals, but whatever).**** We will now be entering *thunder claps* the Commonly Used Plot Line territory. DUN DUN DUUUNNN. But that not until later.**

* * *

It seemed like like forever ago that Bucky and Steve had been attacked in the mall (it really was just a couple months). But they had moved on. Now that the star was off his shoulder, Bucky felt more comfortable going out in public without hiding inside a huge jacket. He still never went out shirtless because of the gruesome stitch work, but that hadn't stopped him. Last week they had met Natasha and Clint at a diner for lunch, and for the first time since showing up at Sam's door, he wore a short sleeve tee. People stared and he was okay with it. Bucky was reluctant to get his hair cut, but Steve finally convinced him to get at least a trim...and for being done in their bathroom, it turned out better than either had expected.

"Congratulations...your hair looks less hobo-esque," Steve said proudly when threw the scissors in the drawer.

"This is the first haircut I've had since the forties. And I must say it is pretty good," he said running his hands through his shoulder length hair.

"You mean, Hydra never once gave their secret weapon some maintenance?"

"They tried. If I remember right, I think I jammed the scissors through the guy's retina..."

Steve laughed. Bucky was always known for his sense of humor, and the fact that he could joke about a dark time made it all the more normal. But neither of them would ever be wholly normal again. Nothing would be. This Bucky was a different Bucky, in multiple ways. They would go on runs together in the morning, or go to the gym together, and occasionally go down to one of Tony's many empty warehouses in the city and just spar. Hand to hand, kickboxing, MMA—it was both practice and relaxation.

Speaking of relaxation, Steve was now Bucky's butler. The ex-assassin had gone out for a run last weekend and had gotten rained out. He practically swam back to the apartment and had gotten sick from it. Steve had forfeited his bed and wasn't too happy about getting intimate with the futon. The thing was a 6x6 paper-thin pillow atop some razor wire springs. He couldn't understand why Bucky loved sleeping on it (more like coveted it).

He clicked the stove off and poured the soup he was heating up into a bowl. He was no genius in these modern times, but Steve was still 99.99% sure that the Bucky that was snoring in his bed was the same Bucky that never ignored the smell of chicken noodle...or food in general. Steve knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open. He set the bowl down on a clear space on the nightstand and made an attempt to wake Bucky up. He shook the snoring lump and got nothing. Steve sighed. He shook—what he assumed to be Bucky's shoulder—harder. Bucky groaned irritably.

"Five more minutes, Steve," Bucky mumbled under the blankets.

"C'mon, Buck. I made lunch."

"I don't care. Lemme sleep," he mumbled again—congested—and sniffled loudly.

"Seriously. Rise and shine," Steve poked forcefully at the lump. "I actually cooked. Humor me."

A metal hand slid out from under the comforter and pushed the blankets back. Bucky sat up and ran his hands through his atrociously messy hair. He blinked at Steve and yawned. A five o'clock shadow was making its slow decent across the latter half of the ex-assassin's face. While it suited him, and looked oddly natural, it was different than the clean-cut gentleman from the 40s. The captain smiled sarcastically and threw him a bottle of DayQuil.

The brunette knocked back a capfull like it was a shot of whiskey, only he was less excited about it, "God...that shit tastes like crappy booze."

Steve chuckled a little and beckoned to the bowl on the table. A hopeful glint reflected in Bucky's eyes at the prospect of homemade soup.

"I'm am forever in your debt. Just like mother never made," he tried laughing but ended up coughing.

Steve eyed him for a second before his cellphone rang. He speed-walked into the kitchen and answered it. Soon thereafter all Bucky heard was broken parts of yelling.

"Stark, you have five seconds to get off my nerves...wait, Fury said—...moving in?! Stark that's...all of us?!...such an ass...fine. But how are we—...not going to sell it all!...S.H.E.I.L.D bought the whole building?! The whole building? Fine...give us two weeks."

Steve walked back in and sank onto the futon. He ran his hands through his hair before pulling a couple of duffel bags from under the couch. Bucky awkwardly focused on him while simultaneously draining the last of the bowl in his hands.

"So...uh...moving, huh?" he tried not to sound apprehensive.

"Yeah," Steve nodded bitterly, "two weeks. S.H.E.I.L.D. is planning on grouping all us Avengers together. _Fantastic._"

The captain took the brunette's bowl into the kitchen while the ex-assassin turned the shower on. He seemed semi-pleased when Steve told him that furniture wasn't going to be an issue. When Bucky all but begged to have the futon moved into their soon-to-be home, Steve gave up and agreed to rent a U-Haul.

* * *

The U-Haul pulled into a parking lot behind Avengers Tower and a metal door swung open to reveal Pepper greeting them in business attire, holding a clipboard, chatting away into a cellphone. Bucky and Steve jumped out and just stared at her while she argued and scribbled.

"I understand that, but—no, I don't want you to fire Jameson...just have the paperwork on my desk in an hour...I'll sign it when I get there. I have to go," she scribbled down some notes before redirecting her attention to the two in in front of her, "hi. I'm sorry about that, I got a new intern. Anyways, I can have some guys take the futon up to your room later."

"We can take it ourselves," Steve interrupted, "spares you the trouble."

"Okay, well in that case, I have to get going."

Pepper got into her car and drove off. Mean while Steve and Bucky unloaded that U-Haul. Through a long period of trial and error, they managed to get the folded monstrosity through Door #1. They met with two options once inside: the world's smallest elevator up...or the world's longest fire exit staircase.

"Elevator?" Steve prompted.

"Elevator."

Bucky pulled his hair back and they made a break for the elevator. It truly was the world's smallest. The cheap metal walls were not what either expected, but it got them out of trekking the stairs. Steve pulled a folded Post-It from his pocket. Floor 15 was their ultimate destination. If they were lucky, they could sneak through the fire escape door into their room without drawing too much attention.

The elevator jerked to a halt and the doors slid open. The room was empty of people, which was good.

"Where do you want it?"

"Can we put it by the closet door?" Bucky half-pleaded.

"Sure."

Bucky admitted he wanted it in the back of the room because it was the darkest part of the insanely open room. A wall cutout crossed the enormous window and offered a pleasant shadow. He had already confessed to _why_ he was so loving of that crappy futon. He said that it was because it was the only thing he remembers being given simply just because. The clothes he wore the night he found Steve: stolen. Any food he had eaten up until that: stolen. And anything Hydra had given him was only because they were technically required to (food, clothes, gear, etc). Steve didn't argue. They managed to fit Bucky's favorite blanket in between the cushion (a black and white checkered afghan Steve found in a thrift shop a couple years ago. It was a huge thing: a 9x9, crocheted titan of a blanket...but it was the warmest thing ever) and a couple of pillows, too.

Somewhere behind them, someone whistled. Bucky and Steve panned around; Bucky's hand went for a pocket on his cargo pants that he kept a pocket knife hidden in. He saw it was Natasha and retracted his hand; his eyes darting nervously around her form. Her white crop-top hung just off her left shoulder where a bullet scar slightly stood out. Bucky looked down at her left hip, where the beginning of another bullet scar peeked over the hem of her shorts.

"I see you two snuck in nicely," Natasha focused on Bucky's gaze as it darted from shoulder to hip and back, "my eyes are up here."

"What? Huh...oh...sorry," he hung his head and hugged his arms to his chest guiltily.

"Hey, Bucky, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Steve asked, concern eminent.

"Russian slug, no rifling," he told Steve quietly.

Steve had already heard the story about being shot through from Natasha, and he was there when she was shot the second time. She pulled her shirt higher on her shoulder, cleared her throat, and motioned them for them to follow her.

"Everyone's in the bar. Oh...and if you want to keep your livers, when Clint offers you a Green Arrow, don't drink them."

When the three entered the bar room, Tony jumped out form behind and overturned sofa and pelted them with rice. The introductions went well and everyone was happy to have met Bucky. Jarvis interrupted, saying a Jane Foster was in the main elevator coming up on invite from Bruce. She brought cake, which no one protested, and for once, Bucky actually felt like he could fit in somewhere.


	6. Memories Coming and Memories Going

**tbh...this might just be a filler chapter, but whatever. i got bored and i just typed this out. sooo...voila. ans this ones actually kinda looong...oops. For all you criers...this ones a kicker. So be warned it gets kinda depressing; not cry under a bed for eternity, but not a "meh *le shrug". Translation is at the bottom (cuz we all love Russian Bucky)**

* * *

Bucky was in Tony's hi-tech gym (where he usually was when he was bored, or stressed, or he had some rage to blow off, if he needed to work some of his PTSD over...so essentially he was mostly in the gym) with his hair tied back, and his earbuds in, blaring hard rock. He had long discarded his shirt when it proved to hot, and his black shorts were clinging to his legs. Bucky was sprinting a treadmill out of its misery to the beat of "Dear Agony", while internally trying to run away from his past. With each memory a new wave of fear and self-loathing crashed down on him: memories of murdering innocent people, memories of Hydra running their inhumane experiments on him just to break him, and of him strapped to that table babbling his name, rank and serial number in an all-for-naught hope of someone coming to save him.

_All he had to do was rear-end the car in front of him. His two targets were inside: Howard and Maria Stark. They were on a deserted highway in the middle of nowhere...easy prey. If they survived, he had orders to prevent that. The Winter Soldier wasn't worried, he was in a heavily armored van and they were in a show car. He gunned the accelerator and the van sped __forward__, ramming into the car. It lurched off the road and rolled into a ditch. A door came off mid-roll and a woman in a blue evening gown sprawled out __onto__ the road. The twisted pile of metal settled and the soldier stopped his van. The woman looked dead to him, so he walked past her. The husband's torso was sticking out of what could only be assumed __to be__ the driver's side door._

_The soldier laid a gloved hand to his throat. No pulse. Target number one: terminated._

_"Please...my husband," a voice behind him choked._

_He turned around to the wife struggling to reach out to him. The soldier pulled a knife out and poised it parallel to the woman's gut. _

_"What are you—no, please, don't."_

___She looked up at him utterly horrified. Wispy strands of brown hair whipped across her face. Her green eyes screamed her fear and her jaw quavered wearily. A couple tears rolled down her cheeks—smearing her mascara into black tears—and she hiccuped as she mouthed "no". The Winter Soldier almost felt...pity( at least he assumed it to be pity) for her._

_Regardless, he was emotionless behind his mask and goggles, "выпрашивая вашей жизни не будет делать ни черта для вас. Ты только имя в файле для меня," he whispered into her ear as he slowly plunged the knife into her abdomen._

_This was rare, he usually never spoke to anybody, no matter who they were. But she was different. He had people beg all the time not to die, but for once he needed to shut them up. But if Hydra found out he talked to a target, he'd be beaten again. He didn't like being beaten; thrown on the floor and kicked until he felt his chest caving in, begging for them to stop just to be beaten with a baton until his face threatened to burst. A swarm of headlights flocked behind him. The soldier ran to his van and sped off. Target number two: terminated._

_Mission__ report: success._

_Maybe when he got back, his handlers would wipe him so he would forget her face and he could sleep again. He wanted to sleep. He was trained to like it...to welcome the ice._

Bucky pounded the speed button a few times and a message popped on the screen reading "Maximum speed reached".

_"Then wipe him and start over."_

_"But, I knew him."_

_"People are __gonna die, Buck. I can't let that happen. Please don't make me do this..."_

_"I'm not gonna fight you."_

_"You're my mission. You're. My. Mission!"_

_"'Cause I'm with you to the end of the line."_

_"Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service to his country."_

"Hey, Bucky, you in here?"

The sudden break in thought shattered through Bucky's concentration and he slipped off the treadmill; face-planting onto the rubber strip before being propelled backwards. He pulled himself up off the linoleum, picked his MP3 up off the floor, and pulled a towel off a bench press. Steve hurried in through the open door and lobbed a water bottle at Bucky. He caught it with assassin-like reflexes and pulled his shirt off the bench; Steve turned the treadmill off with a look that read "oops".

Bucky pulled his hair down and drank the entirety of the water bottle in only a plastic crack and a swallow. They walked out into the hallway together to their shared room at the end of the hallway. Bucky made a beeline for the bathroom, while Steve just flopped on the bed with his book (a biography on Lincoln...shocker).

The cold water always felt nice after a hard workout...it felt nice any time, actually. Bucky had become so accustomed to the cold that it was second nature, almost like a sibling to him. But, no matter how hard he tried to scour his past away, how hard he tried to forget all that, it never worked. No amount of soap and water could ever wash the blood from his hands. The cold water trickled down his neck and he shivered...he had been trained to like the cold.

When Bucky came out, a note on the door told him Steve went for groceries. He shrugged and dropped onto his futon—passing out for a long nap. His nightmares had decreased, but he still had them nonetheless. Now they were harmless, only snippets from his past, though nonetheless unsettling.

_"Bucky, grab my hand! Bucky!"_

_Steve faded off into the white abyss above him. He veered towards a rock, hitting it and bouncing off. He crashed into the snow and dared not to move. Maybe if he stayed still, the snow would take his pain. Men started showing up, talking in a foreign language, and he tried backing away. A red trail followed him, and he passed out seeing what was left on his arm._

_"Sergeant Barnes...the procedure has already started. You are to be the new fist of Hydra. Put him on ice." _

_The ice crusted over the small window; tiny frozen blades piercing every pore on his body and stinging him until he gave in and closed his eyes. _

_**Steve, help—** he thought...no...he prayed. But, nothing happened; no one came to pry him from the ice. Instead, the ice swallowed him. __The cold took over his mind...then there was nothing._

He jolted awake, laying on his back and staring at the pale ceiling. Bucky put his hands to his face and rolled up, sitting on the edge with his feet in the floor. He heard shaky breathing across the room, like someone was crying. He quickly looked around. Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed with a letter in his hands and a wadded up tissue balled in one of them. Steve slowly panned his puffy eyes to Bucky.

"Um...sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," Steve sniffled, "You remember Peggy?"

Bucky nodded, and made his way to Steve. He stood in front of him and was handed the letter, not quite sure whether or not to read it. He heard Steve sniffle and knew this wasn't a happy letter. Sure he remembered Peggy, he saw her portion at the museum and he regained the memories of her from long ago. The writing on the paper was clearly feminine and he had a feeling he knew what he was reading.

**September 17, 2014**

**Dear Mr. Rogers;**

**You may remember me, I'm Peggy's daughter Elizabeth. We've met a few times when you visited Mom. I did some research and found out who you were, how you met my mom and all that. Apparently you two had a relationship in the 1940s, but that's none of my business.**

**I'm sorry to tell you this but, Mom passed away last night. The doctor said that the medicine was no longer doing anything to help, and the best we could do was let her go quietly on her own. She died peacefully, and she'll be happy with Dad in heaven. I often heard you two talking and from all that I know you two were very close and still loved her very much.**

**I feel its important to tell you what her last sentiment was. She said: "I just remembered something...tell Steve that I'll be late for our dance"; if that's any consolation to you. She was very loved, and I'm very sorry for both of our losses. Her funeral is June 25 at Rushburough Cemetery at 4:30 and I sincerely hope you can come. **

**Deepest condolences,**

**Elizabeth Carter**

"Steve, I—"

Steve's head fell onto Bucky's torso and he cried there for a few minutes. Bucky had been here in this position before, and all he did was put his arms around Steve— trying to comfort him and calm him down. Bucky knelt on the ground before Steve so their eyes were level.

"I–I'm sorry, Buck. I didn't mean for you to see me like this," he sobbed.

Bucky put his hands around Steve's face and whipped the captain's cheeks off with his thumbs, "don't worry. We all have these. I know its bad, but it'll be better soon. Promise."

"Come to the funeral with me. Please. I couldn't go alone. Please, Bucky," he barely finished the sentence before breaking down again, "I've already lost the two people I care for most."

Steve was referring to both Bucky and Peggy, and the ex-assassin knew it too. There was no funeral for James Buchanan Barnes, no time to mourn—to _really_ mourn—when he had "died". Now Steve had to bury the only girl he'd ever truly loved. And Bucky felt his pain, because he had been in Steve's place more times than any of them had cared to count. With the feeling of your world crashing down just as it buikds itself back up.

* * *

Steve pulled his suit jacket over his shirt and adjusted his tie. Jarvis announced Natasha walking in, and she handed him her car keys. He nodded his thanks.

She patted him on the shoulder, "I'm sorry about Peggy."

"Thanks."

Bucky walked out from the bathroom and buttoned up his shirt. Steve stared at him, trying not to drop his jaw; Natasha only smirked.

"You cut your hair...?"

"Yeah. I didn't want to show up looking like a bum. And it was getting annoying," he scratched his hand over his newly cut hair and put on a black pea coat he had in the closet..

"This will be the longest three hour drive of my life," the captain muttered under his breath.

"It'll be okay," Natasha tried as she turned and left.

Steve and Bucky walked down to the parking lot out back. When they passed through the living room, everyone was sitting in wait. Tony went to say something but Pepper put a hand his hand over his mouth. No one said anything, but the looks on their faces expressed their sorrow for Steve.

...

They arrived ten minutes late, and the preacher was saying the funeral prayer as Elizabeth was sprinkling the first dirt on Peggy's coffin. There about ten other people: two were relatively young (Peggy's other children, Steve guessed), the rest were middle aged-to older (Peggy's other family, most likely). Steve and Bucky just stood in the back, not wanting to draw attention.

"...and commend her body to thy earth..."

Bucky noticed Steve choking up and pulled a pack of Kleenex from his pocket. H e tapped Steve's hand with it.

"Thanks," he whispered, taking one, and wiping his eyes.

It ended shortly, and set and Bucky waited for the small group to disperse before consulting Elizabeth. She noticed the two men, and walked over. This was the first time Bucky had ever met any of Peggy's family, and he was a little nervous.

Elizabeth's short, curly, black hair bounced as she walked; her patent-leather black heels clicked on the pavement, and her plain black dress fitted her curves under the equally black trench coat. She whipped her eyes and put her glasses back on—the red frames adding some color to her outfit.

"Steve, thank you for coming. I didn't see you in the beginning."

"We arrived a little late. Oh, uh...this is my friend James."

Bucky smiled a tiny smile and shook her hand, "call me 'Bucky'. And, I'm really sorry about your mother."

"Please, we're all going to my house for a little while. Would you care to come?"

Steve looked to Bucky, who just shrugged casually, and agreed, "yeah. That sounds good. We'll follow you."

* * *

They didn't come home until after nine. When they came in, everyone was asleep, but there was a lamp in the living room on with a card under it. Steve dropped Natasha's keys on the coffee table and told Bucky to go ahead upstairs.

"You sure? I don't mind waiting," Bucky said, lingering by the elevator.

"Yeah. I'll be up in a little bit."

The door dinged and closed, and Steve opened the unmarked envelope. It was a simple card: a picture of a rose on a beach saying "My Condolences" in white. The inside was blank, but had a paragraph written in pen. It was Tony's handwriting, obviously (messy, half-hearted, pseudo-cursive).

**Capsicle,**

**Look...I know sometimes I act like a d-bag, and a teenager, and an egotistical bastard, and a know-it-all, and sarcastic playboy, but I actually do have a heart. I'm sorry about your girlfriend, and I know what you're going through. I realize that I treat you like I don't give a damn about you and you're Soviet boy-toy...but if you need anything I'm here. And tell no one I wrote this because Pepper and Natasha will never leave me alone.**

**-Tony**

Steve smiled at the gesture and pulled himself into the elevator. When he walked into his room, Bucky was stretched out on his futon, shirtless, in some grey sweatpants, watching a Russian MMA fight he had taped from that day. He noticed Steve and clicked the TV off.

The captain just dropped his clothes on the floor and sank into the bed in his boxers. Bucky walked over and sat down next to him. Steve pressed his face into the sheets, but the ex-assassin put a metal finger under the blonde's chin and lifted his chin up to meet his eyes.

"Hey, it's gonna be fine, 'kay?"

"'Kay," he pulled Bucky down onto the bed and landed a kiss on his lips.

The brunette was surprised at first, but warmed up, and settled into it. He pulled back after a few seconds and tried getting up off the bed.

"Go to bed, punk," Bucky smirked, and a tug on his arm told him not to go.

"No," Steve whined playfully, "stay. Punk."

Bucky rolled his eyes and turned off the lamp. He laid down next to Steve and pulled one of his arms over his shoulders, "now stop whining and go to sleep."

* * *

**I could hold it back no more...FLUFFY STUCKY BOYFRIEND STUF. IS ABOUT TO AVANLACHE AT YOU GUYS. And yes...I killed off Peggy...and yes...I wrote a pitifully underdeveloped funeral that I hate myself for but sweet and peaceful deaths aren't my forte. Oh well...it worked right? I probably should say that I use google translate and I know it sucks but it's not like I can get anything better right now.**

выпрашивая вашей жизни не будет делать ни черта для вас. Ты только имя в файле для меня...begging for your life won't do a damn for you. You're just a name in a file to me.


	7. Might As Well Get Back In The Fight

**we have reached the proverbial "point of no return" so this is the second to last chapter. Yes sad I know. But fret not ill still publish little oneshots and what not. So...merry Christmas: Stucky boyfriend love...and some desperately needed action.**

**AND yes I added a cover image for this story. Cuz I saw it on tumblr and I was like "huh...well god diddly dammit this fits my story" so voila...if it fits it sits**

* * *

"Steve...maybe we should be...a little more quiet,"Bucky whispered in his ear as the captain ran heavy kisses down his collarbone.

Steve looked from Bucky's neck and smiled, "now why would we do that, huh?"

He moved his lips on top of Bucky's and floored him; French kissing him so hard neither could barely breathe. Both his metal and human hands reached up to tousle the captain's hair as he gasped for air in between the tangle of lips. Steve's hands freely caressed the bare abs beneath him—the hard muscles flexing and twitching with each passing second. The ex-assassin pulled his trademark fingerless glove from his metal hand and slammed it onto the nightstand—knocking the little clock over right as the numbers changed to 11:03 PM. Steve's hands shot up to Bucky's neck, wandering through the short, brunette hair. Bucky's hands snaked thier way under Steve's shirt and up to the captain's shoulders.

"Would you...take that damn...shirt off already?" he ordered in between harsh breaths.

Steve broke off for a second, and whipped his white wifebeater over the headboard before rejoing his lips to Bucky's.

This was the first time either of them was really _experiencing _the other as a couple. They had decided to take things slow and for the first week they kept their relationship secretive. Quick glances, subtle movements, making out in one of the spare rooms when no one was paying any attention. Then Bruce walked in on them by accident when he was looking for Tony and of spilled the beans. Surprisingly, everyone was happy for them (when they admitted it, Clint slipped Natasha a $20. "Crappiest bet ever," he had whined, "how the hell was I supposed to know they would hook up? That was the money I was putting towards a laser sight too.").

Steve slid his mouth down to the seam between the metal arm and Bucky's shoulder; gingerly kissing each scar and mark—something that had never happened, nor had it ever been attempted. Yes, Bucky walked around shirtless every now and then...but that was only when he was totally alone, or when he was alone with Steve. Practically no one was allowed to see those scars and Bucky let no one touch them. No one. Not even Steve.

Bucky pushed Steve up until thier eyes met. He shot the captain a half serious, half puppy dog look, "don't. Please."

"Buck, what is it?" he asked calmly, but nonetheless concerned.

"It's just...that part of me..." he sighed, "something like that shouldn't be loved—shouldn't be seen. Its the one part of me I like hidden. It just doesn't feel right."

Steve's eyes softened, "it's a part of you now, and I think that arm is just as beautiful as the rest of you. You're definitely not the same Bucky I knew in Brooklyn...but you're still Bucky. _My Bucky_. End of the line remember?"

The statement warranted a tiny smile and some light kisses from the ex-assassin. Steve rolled off and snuggled into Bucky's left shoulder; intertwining his fingers with Bucky's metal ones. The ex-assassin stroked the top of Steve's hand with his metallic thumb and rested his head on top of the captain's; periodically pecking a small kiss on the slightly ruffled, blonde, hair. Before either of them could say anything, Steve's cell phone rang. Bucky groaned irritably as Steve pushed himself up.

"Do you _have_ to answer that?" he tried pulling Steve back down into the bed, "just let it ring."

"It's Fury...I have to take it. Sorry," he looked almost guilty as he stood up, found and tugged his shirt on, and disappeared into a corner to take the call.

Bucky shuffled out of bed, pulled his glove back on his metal hand, and walked into the bathroom for some water. The taste of Steve's lips lingered on his own, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky wasn't scared of hurting someone close to him. Steve was there in the next room, and he _loved_ Bucky, he made him feel emotions he never thought he'd ever feel again, he completed Bucky the way that no other person on this Earth ever could. He couldn't help over hear the conversation, and his interest peaked when he heard Steve mention him.

"Yeah, he's doing fine. Did you have time to review the request I sent...Approved? Thank you...A week from today...uh, few miles west of...the Swiss Alps, got it...alright then."

Bucky froze, _The Alps? Why do those sound familiar? _

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve sink into the bed and Bucky walked out if the bathroom to talk to him. He crouched on the ground in front of the captain, who was turning the cellphone over in his hands nervously. Bucky took the phone and set it on the table and grabbed Steve's hand in his own; tangling their fingers together.

"I kinda over heard your conversation, "he said looking up; trying to stay positive.

"That's the thing, Buck. See...I, um, asked Director Fury if you could...could, um..."

"If I could, what?" Bucky asked, a little more seriously.

"If you could come with me, Nat, and Clint on a mission," Steve realized his mistake and immediately tried correcting himself, "i-it's just a small one! Nothing to huge. Just that its a, um...weapons raid."

Bucky stood up and his hands flew up in the air. Despite all his body language displaying him as pissed off, he was the complete opposite.

"What were you thinking?! I am _not_ going out there, Steve! I-I _can't_! What if I screw up and get someone killed, or-or what if I get scared and freeze up and cost us the whole mission," Bucky's voice hitched in his throat and he sounded two seconds away from crying (not that Steve would blame him), "what if I snap, huh? What if I lose control? If you give me a gun and tell me to kill people I can't guarantee who I'll kill!"

Bucky paced around the room for a few moments before dropping down on the bed next to Steve. He leaned his head on the captain's shoulder and took in a slightly shaky, deep breath—staring at the floor, almost embarrassed to look anywhere else. Steve's hand reached over and stroked the stubble on the back of the ex-assassins neck before pressing an apologetic kiss on the top on Bucky's head.

"I'm sorry. Really. I guess I just wasn't thinking. I thought that it would be good for you to get back in the field. I didn't mean anything by it. Really...it was poor judge—"

"No. You're right. I do need to put the past behind me and move on. You said it was a weapons raid. What kind?"

Steve cleared his throat and paused for a second—unsure how to word his answer, "well, theres this old bunker on the Alps and some guys broke in and found some, uh, specialty guns. They're selling them to black market clients."

He rolled his eyes, but was glad Bucky didn't see, _"Specialty" guns...nice going, Steve. Who the hell am I kidding? He's gonna kill me when I tell him. Oh God, what did I get him into?_

"Define 'specialty'" Bucky asked—a mix or being snarky, being scared, and being harsh—as he cocked his head up at Steve.

"...Hydra..." it came out in a tiny whisper and Steve said it as fast as he could just to get it out of his mouth.

Bucky's metal hand shot up and tried to ball into a fist, but he couldn't bring himself to. He just sighed and hugged himself closer to Steve, "I'll go. But, just to watch your idiot self."

"Don't rush it. You have a few days to think this through."

"No. I gotta do this. I'll be fine. But I'm dead tired, so I'm going to bed," Bucky said as he slid into his side of the gargantuan California-king-sized bed they now shared.

Steve slid in behind him and wrapped his arms around the ex-assassin.

"Punk," Bucky whispered into his pillow, but just loud enough for Steve to hear.

"I love you to, jerk."

* * *

Natasha and Clint were on board with the prospect of Bucky accompanying them on thier mission—in fact they were the ones who requested it in the first place. Bucky had gone down to Tony's personal firing range to brush up on his skills and often sparred with either Steve or Natasha in the gym. They all left for Switzerland tomorrow afternoon, so everything was already piled at the door (various cases of weapons ranging from tactical a high caliber rifle to Clint's bow). They were all trying to cram as much sleep in as possible for the past few days. Eating insane food portions that could put the Hulk to shame, then slaving in the gym for several hours, then sleeping until the next morning. Rinse and repeat. Every day. All week.

But, over the past couple of days, Steve was noticing that Bucky was getting more and more nervous-looking and jittery. He'd been slipping up during training too: tripping, or zoning out during sparring, completely missing two or three shots in a row out in the firing range. He wouldn't sleep as well either: getting up every hour or so, tossing and turning more than usual. However, Steve hadn't really seen how bad it was until it woke him up the night before they had to leave. Something woke him up at 2:41 AM, but he couldnt figure out what. Steve found Bucky's side of the bed empty, and immediatly jumped up and panned the room.

He saw the bathroom door was open, the lights were on, and there was someone kneeling over the toilet. Steve ran in...and kind of wished he hadn't. Bucky was leaning over the toilet, throwing his guts up, in some grey gym shorts and a black T-shirt. His short bangs still hung over his face long enough to almost reach his eyes (which on their own where trailed by dark, heavy circles) reinforcing Steve's concern.

"Bucky...are you alright?" _Is he alright, what the hell kind of stupid question is that?_

"Do I look alright to you?" he retorted into the toilet, voice raw and hoarse, "Sorry. I didn't mean—" he was cut short by another wave of nausea before continuing to vomit.

Steve ducked out of the room for a moment and returned with a blanket that he draped carefully over Bucky's shoulders and a bottle of water from the mini-fridge they had hidden in the closet. When Bucky finished, he leaned against the wall, panting slightly. Steve passed him the water bottle.

"Don't swallow," he ordered quietly, but kindly.

Bucky spit the water into the toilet a couple of times before finally flushing it. He pressed his metal hand across his neck, trying to cool himself down. Steve's heart dropped a little bit. So, he picked Bucky up off the floor bridal style —trying his best to keep the blanket on him—and carried him back to the bed.

"You're awfully warm, Buck. Are you sure you don't want to cancel out?" Steve laid the ex-assassin on the bed and pulled the sheets up to Bucky's chest before getting in himself.

"Its just nerves. I'll be fine. My head's just killing me right now," he almost had to strain to say.

"Do you want to take something?" Steve asked quietly as he put a hand up to Bucky's forehead.

"It's not that," he pushed Steve's hand off, "what if I make a wrong decision and get some one killed? What if I cost us the mission? What if I—"

"But you won't. Your smart enough to know how to handle a situation. Trust me...everything will work out," Steve pulled Bucky close and stroked his hand until they both fell asleep.

...

The alarm clock beeped loudly, and Steve and Bucky groaned in unison. Steve clicked it off and crawled out of bed; smacking Bucky on the shoulder as a secondary wake-up call.

"Five more minutes."

"Nope. 7:30. Come on, get up. I'll be nice and give you the first shower," Steve started pulling the ex-assassin up.

"I'm honored."

Bucky eventually got the message and shuffled to the bathroom while the captain pulled thier uniforms from the closet and set them on the bed. The original solid blue one he had recently been issued was lost when the Triskelion was destroyed, so he had been given a spare one that looked the exact same (at least this one he didn't have to steal from a museum). Truth be told, Steve liked the simple design of the solid navy with just the silver star and the few stripes across the shoulder because it was less flashy—which was never a bad thing. Since Bucky hadn't kept his leather armor, Agent Hill tasked some S.H.I.E.L.D agents who worked in the armory to try and recreate it to the best of thier abilities. The new one was an identical match—everything was the exact same. Steve heard the water shut off and a few moments later the door opened. Bucky came out clean shaven, his wet hair looking a little shorter, a towel around his neck, and wearing some black briefs.

_Its a little weird seeing him with short hair again._

The ex-assassin picked the familiar armor up and eyed it, semi-suspiciously, "so this is my new stuff, huh? Well it looks the same."

"Special order too. The girl almost passed out when I went in."

"I can imagine how that went," Bucky belted the pants on and adjusted all the fastenings in their various positions, "so far it's pretty damn accurate. Holsters in the right spots, straps in the right directions."

He brought over a 2'x2' Pelican Case that was by the door and cracked it open. The foam lining held about five fixed-blade knives of different lengths and widths. Steve watched as Bucky a put pair of serrated knives into their sheathes on his lower back, a double-edged knife went into a slot inside the pistol holster strapped to his right leg, and finally a small plate knife went into a hidden sheath in each if his boots. Bucky clipped the last harness over his shoulders and tightened it.

"You look like a strap display," Steve commented as he pulled himself in to make out with Bucky, "the asymmetry of the whole one-sleeve thing throws me off, though."

"Gee...thanks," he laughed and kissed Steve a couple more times, "I'll meet you downstairs."

When Bucky walked into the kitchen, Tony was sitting on the couch tweaking at a circuit board, Clint was standing at the counter loading his quiver with Lord only knows how many arrowheads, and Natasha was organizing the belt on her jumpsuit while nibbling at a Poptart.

"Christ, if you add one more leather strap to that outfit you could pass for a kink harness," Tony snorted.

"You just have no appreciation for the finer things. Sleeveless uniforms unite!" Clint raised his hand and Bucky gave him a metal-to-flesh high-five, "except...I'm not really 'sleeveless' in a thermal, I guess."

"You men are all crazy," Natasha mumbled above her Poptart. She pulled the zipper on her suit up to the top, "where's Steve?"

"Shower."

Steve came down the stairs about ten minutes later, his shield affixed to his back. He dropped some bread in the toaster, picked up the mission file, and read it again for the umpteenth time. An old bunker hidden in the Swiss Alps...this sounded so familiar, like he'd been there before...he just couldn't place his finger on it. Should Steve be remembering an old Swiss bunker anyways? His toast popped almost instantaneously.

_Thank God for hi-tech toasters._

"So, how is the Merry Band of Assassins getting there anyways?" Tony asked, not really expecting an answer.

"S.H.I.E.L.D is sending a helicopter that's going to take us to a secure airbase in DC. From there we take a jet to Switzerland," Clint replied while carefully placing his quiver inside its designated Pelican Case.

"Uh-huh. And where is this helicopter landing?"

"You're roof."

"My roof?! Since when did I get a —"

The sound of whirring blades cut him off. Clint, Natasha, and Bucky all scrambled through the pile of Pelican Cases trying to find the ones that belonged to them. Steve chuckled a little, saying they all looked like chickens with their heads cut off shuffling for their weapons. While Clint and Bucky both had two, Natasha topped them out at three—though hers were smaller. They stood on the roof of Stark Tower, loading the tiny, designated cargo space—Tony yelling at the pilot for "violating property airspace" and how he could "buy out him, his family, and this pathetic excuse he called a military aircraft". Before getting in, Steve pulled Bucky aside.

"Are you sure you want to do this? It's not to late to cancel out," Steve had to yell about the wind noise.

"Steve, enough. I'm not going to bail out now. Now get in the damn helicopter before I throw you in."


	8. The Alps

**Again—late chapter and sincerest apologies but yeaaaaaahhh I lied. Not last chapter. Whoopsie. so once more fighting/action scenes so I will try my damnedest and please bear with me (cuz I swear I can't write them to save my life) Let's see if you all can guess the (not so much of an) Easter egg in here. **

* * *

The S.H.I.E.L.D transport had dropped the four in the middle of the Alps on the edge of what appeared to be a runway. It was too short to be used by modern aircraft, so it must be old. A set of insanely large hangar door stared them down—they must've been at least forty feet tall, and had been left open by whoever used them last. The runway and hangar were circled by parts of the mounatin side and snow covered rock.

Steve leaned over to Bucky, "you didn't have to wear the mask," he said as quietly ashe could agaimat the wind.

"Part of the uniform," Bucky cracked a smile (not that it was visible), "like that stupid helmet you got."

The two jokily bumped shoulders a couple of times and Clint rolled his eyes at them, "oh God...get a room you two."

Steve moved to take point with his shield on his back; he focused on the doors—trying to see if he remembered why this place seemed familiar. Bucky trailed behind him; an assault rifle hanging loosely out of his right hand with the tip of the muzzle tapping his leg as he walked. Natasha and Clint both had their hands balled under thier arms. They walked in and found the runway continuing through the hangar. Everything was cut into the mountain and the iron it was constructed from was showing its age. Thier footsteps echoed through the empty structure. That and the wind were the only break from the eerie silence.

"Don't you find it..._off_...that this place is utterly deserted?" Natasha pined; she kept her voice a notch quieter than normal, "I mean, intel said this was a weapons smuggling point. I don't see any weapons or smugglers."

"Aw c'mon, Nat. It's just like Dubai. Remeber that? Don't lie. You know you do," Clint chuckled as he pulled his bow from his back and snapped it open.

"Hey, I found a door over there," Steve pointed out and veered the small group in its general direction.

It was a normal sized door: iron, the frame a few inches off the ground, and propped open slightly. It swung out and the captain moved to step through, but Bucky put a hand up to stop him. The assassin pulled a knife from his back and ran it along the bottom of the frame an inch or two off the ground. It snagged something and a wire cut; a fresh grenade dropped out of a nearby pipe. The pin and fasten were still in tact and everyone breathed a baited sigh of relief before continuing. The metal hallways were oddly familiar to Steve, but he couldn't place them. And then...

"Oh, you have got to be shitting me," he stopped in the middle of the hall—causing everyone to run into each other's backs, "here of all places..."

Bucky stepped up next to Steve and focused on him for a second, "Steve, what is—" his eyes caught on a tattered old Hydra banner draping from the ceiling. The red emblem stood out against the cracking black leather like a ghost in the night, "oh."

All at once, everything got coated in a grainy haze. It was like watching an old news reel. Bucky's mind ran blank. He couldn't take his eyes away from the banner, not even of he wanted to. It was like he was drowning in red again. Like Pierce was playing with his mind again. Like that chair was pulling him back into that machine. He felt like he was screaming, but he wasn't. He was watching himself from a different perspective—like sleep paralysis with a bird's eye view. He didn't snap out of it until he felt a hand on his back and turned around to face Natasha. He gave her a small nod and she withdrew. They followed the corridor for another ten minutes before it ended at a T. After a few minutes of a joint argument over who went with who, Clint and Natasha went left and Steve and Bucky went right. If anything went wrong they'd meet back there.

* * *

"Bucky, I'm sorry. About back there."

"Don't worry about it. Hey, look at that," he was pointing do another door ahead that was slightly ajar with a couple people inside talking.

Steve pressed himself against the wall and motioned for himself to go in first, then Bucky second. Steve kicked the door down, but upon entry, six burly, cheap-for-hire, security guards jumped up from a poker table and pointed various assault rifles at him. Before anyone could react, Bucky burst in and immediately began shooting. The first two guards went down in the initial rampage, while the other two charged Steve. Bucky pulled the knives from the sheaths on his back and expertly threw them at Steves attackers.

They dropped to the ground with the handles jutting from thier jugulars. Bucky's heightened reflexes told his instincts to kick in the air directly behind him; his foot collided with a face and he pulled out his hand gun. When he turned around he shot the remaining two guards. For a split second, everything was silent as Bucky's mind reeled.

"Bucky? What is it?"

He didn't know how to answer, he didn't understand the question, and he didn't know who this man was. The Winter Soldier's eyes were feral and he raised his handgun at the man in front of him. Where was he? He didn't recall this part of the assignment. Where was the rest of his team...where was his handler?

Steve slowly reached his hand out, "Bucky, it's okay. It's me, Steve. I'm not gonna—"

"I'm not him!" his finger reflexively pulled the trigger and Steve yelped as a couple of bullets shot into his right forearm. The short scream and the sight of more blood pulled Bucky back. He realized what he had done and his voice cracked with self-sympathy, "...I-I didn't mean...please, Steve, I'm sorry."

"It's fine—ah—I'm fine," he tried shrugging it off, but his arm was on fire, and he let it hang loosely by his side as he picked up his shield, "let's just get back to Nat and Clint."

* * *

Natasha and Clint weren't at the rendezvous point, but Steve and Bucky could hear faint gunshots coming from further down the hall. After passing a few more Hydra banners and one or two deserted hallways, they soon walked into the only room left and saw Clint pointing his bow at some poor guy who looked about twenty in a black parka, some orange ski pants, a red scarf, and black snow boots. His hands were up in the air and he was having a panic attack in German. Meanwhile, Natasha was pinning the other on the ground with her guns against his head. He also looked around twenty; wearing a navy parka, a black beanie, some thick black glasses, and matching black snow pants and boots. She turned around when she hear them enter, deciding against a smile when they had to step over a couple of dead security guards blocking the door.

"Nice of you to make it," she noticed Steve's arm, "did you get shot?"

"I wasn't paying attention," he snuck a reassuring glance at Bucky, "so are these our guys?"

"It appears so, but this guy _WON'T SHUT UP_!" Clint snapped at the man in front of him—only making the problem worse.

Bucky walked over to the young man having the panic attack and grabbed him by the jaw, "_sie gehen, um lhre Loch gesteckt und uns sagen, wo Sie die Waffen haben und wer Sie sie versenden_."

"_W-Wir fanden dieses Hotel, als wir gingen Wandern. Wir haben einige Bilder und stellte sie auf Twitter. Eine Woche später, ein Typ, der keinen Namen geben, uns würde gab uns eine Menge Geld und ein paar Bodyguards, die Waffen für ihn zu versenden. Dass die Wahrheit, die ich schwören. Bitte schlagen Sie mich nicht ... Ich bin hemophobic_!"

Bucky let to man go and backed up. Everyone stared at him, confused, for a few seconds before Natasha finally asked.

"You speak German?"

Bucky shrugged, "well...yeah."

She arched her eyebrows and nodded discreetly yet sarcastically (while simultaneously pushing one of her pistols into her captives skull to stop him from squirming), "and what did he say?"

"They went hiking, found this bunker, and put some pictures up on Twitter. Some nameless guy contacted them, gave them some cheap bodyguards and a big fat check to sell and ship the weapons for him. And he's scared of blood," he rolled his eyes.

Steve pulled a small transmitter from a pouch on his waist, "I'll call our ride—"

"No, you should get that arm at least tied off," Clint still had his bow in the young man even though he was facing the captain, "I'll do it. You and Barnes get that arm taken care of."

While he placed the call, Bucky and Steve stepped into the hall way. Bucky pulled a small roll of gauze from one of his many pockets ("Force of habit," he stated) and took Steve's arm in his hands. The blood had soaked through the uniforms fabric, and found its way onto the brunette's hands—blood he, quite literally, never wanted to have on his hands again after the Helicarrier was now back. His human fingers expertly wrapped the gauze; he tied it off tightly and Steve hissed quietly. Bucky shoved the roll away but still held Steve's arm.

"I'm so sorry. I never should have come—"

Steve took Bucky's face in his hands and looked him straight in the eyes. A slight smile on his lips, "shhh. Hey, it's not your fault. At least it was just my arm," he gave Bucky a gentle kiss to try and keep him from losing all emotion.

...

They walked out onto the runway where the transport was waiting. Natasha was poking her pistols into the backs of their new prisoners, forcing them in first. Bucky walked behind everybody else, eyes down, and getting in last. The EMT started working on Steve's arm, but Bucky couldn't watch; knowing he had caused it was pushing him over the edge. He peered out of the windshield and saw a train rail running through the mountain side. He just stared at it until it went out of view and felt the light pressure of Steve's hand on his metal one and looked over.

"We made it, didn't we?" Steve said quietly in a failed act if at least lightening the mood.

"Yeah," Bucky rested his head on Steve's shoulder, "I guess we did."

* * *

**—You are going to shut your hole and tell use where you got the weapons and who you ship them to.**

**—W-We found this place when we went hiking. We took some pictures and posted them on Twitter. A week later, some guy who wouldn't give us a name gave us a ton of money and some bodyguards to ship the guns for him. That the truth I swear. Please don't hit me...I'm hemophobic!**

**{A/N—in case no one got it, the bunker thing where they are is Schmidt's from CA: The First Avenger. I just thought it'd be kinda cool to throw in. And I really don't know why but I just wanted Steve to get shot so in case anyone was wondering}**


	9. Fly Me To The Moon

**Sorry bout the late posting but it's fluffy so I hope that makes up(?). Anyways second to last chapter for reals So boohoo...not really. It ends sweet. That's all you get. This is just a quickie little filler cheater btw. No more spoilers...that's another lie. Fillers are spoiler conductors sooooooo yeah. **

**I am dedicating this chapter to my father. Thanks for the dance.（ゝ。∂）**

* * *

It was about when Steve walked into the kitchen and set a few grocery bags on the counter. Natasha and Clint where sitting on the couch together (actually, Clint had fallen asleep on Natasha's shoulder with his earbuds in and his iPod laying in his lap and Natasha was reading a copy of Cosmopolitan from 2010). She gave Steve an apologetic look when he started putting the fruit away—seeing how she couldn't exactly get up to help.

"Who gets groceries at eight in the evening?" Natasha pressed with sarcastic interests, but didn't get an answer. However, she knew him too well, "I know what you're going to ask. He's out on your guys' balcony."

Steve arched an eye brow and put some cold cuts in the refrigerator, "how'd you know I was gonna ask?"

"You always do."

"Gee, thanks," Steve closed the fridge and headed for thier room.

...

Bucky was sitting in a lounge chair barefoot, in some black cargo shorts and a navy T-shirt, with a cigarette in between his metal fingers. He heard the glass door click open and a second later Steve sat down on the edge of the other chair. The captain eyed the multiple butts in the ashtray on the ground by Bucky's chair and the pack of Marlboro in his pocket. The ex-assassin side-eyed him for a moment before bringing the cigarette to his lips again. Steve was wearing those old jeans Bucky always stole, a grey polo, and those black Converse he practically lived in.

"Since when did you start smoking?"

"Since I first shipped out. I never smoked around you 'cause I knew you hated it," he took another drag and flicked some ashes into the tray.

Steve relaxed into the chair and just watched Bucky. It was all like a weird dream, and every so often he stopped to focus on the fact that Bucky was back. He looked exactly the same now—aside from the metal arm and a few scars here or there—a haircut , some old memories, and the trademark "punk"/"jerk" banter and he was Bucky again. After a final drag, Bucky put the cigarette out and reach across to flick Steve's hand. He took notice and tangled thier fingers together.

"You wear that glove like all the time, ya know. It's like Steve said matter-of-factly and he stroked it lovingly with his thumb.

"Keeps the metal from snagging on everything," he stretched a finger up and absent-mindedly traced the edge of the bandage just above Steve's wrist, "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened, its just I-I...I snapped and—"

"Hey, come on, you cant blame yourself for that; it wasn't your fault. No one else does."

Bucky stood up and walked over to the glass railing. The way he leaned on it spoke volumes of self-anger and what seemed like deep guilt, "Steve, I-I shot you in the arm! Didn't I say something like this would happen? But you wanted me to come, so I did. And look where it got me. I can't even hold a gun for _two fucking seconds _without putting someone _I care about_ in danger," his voice hesitated to hitch over the lump threatening to form in his throat.

Steve's eyes momentarily flicked down at the bandage on his arm. He pulled another cigarette and one of those cheap Bic lighters from his pocket. The lighter refused to light, and on about the tenth unsuccessful click, Steve walked over.

"No, hey, c'mon...don't. Hey," he pleaded quietly as he took Bucky's hands in his own, offering up a weak smile on the last hey.

Steve pulled the lighter away and shoved it into his own back pocket, and pulled the cigarette from Bucky's mouth—also pushing it into his pocket next to the lighter. He laid a couple of apologetic kisses on the assassin's knuckles before dragging him inside the room and standing him in the middle of the room. Bucky eyed him with an exasperated glare as Steve plugged his phone into the stereo system and scrolled through some music. He clicked play on a song and pulled Bucky into a loose hug. They were dancing and Bucky knew it; the only other times he and Steve had danced was when he was drunk or for a bet. But never just for the hell of it. And—to be honest—it was nice.

"What are you doing?" he tried to sound irritated but all he did was smile and try not to laugh when he heard the first few piano notes.

_Fly me to the moon. Let me play amongst the stars. Let me see what spring is like, on a Jupiter and Mars._

"We are dancing. To Frank Sinatra," Steve cocked his head and started slowly rocking back and forth to the music.

"And why?" Bucky knew he wasn't fooling anybody. This was sweet and Steve was only trying to make him feel better...the sad part was that it was working. He gave in and leaned his head on Steve's shoulder.

_In other words, hold my hand. In other words, baby, kiss me._

"'Cause you're a stubborn punk, that's why," he sentimentally kissed the top of Bucky's head and continued rocking back and forth to the quiet jazz.

_Fill my heart with song, and let me sing forever more. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore._

"This is nice, Steve. Really. It's sweet," Bucky took a step back; nervously hunching his shoulders down, hugging his arms together, and staring down at the carpet, "it's just that...well..."

He stopped the music, "Just that what? Bucky, what's wrong?"

"I think we should get married," he whispered it so quietly it was almost inaudible.

"Bucky, I can't hear you when you mumble. Say it."

"I wanna get married!" Bucky blurted fast and firm before shrinking in on himself again.

Steve's jaw came close to hitting the floor as a genuine smile stretched from ear to ear. It wasn't exactly the proposal he had in mind, but it was still perfect. Of course he wanted to marry Bucky, and of course he was going to say yes. He had wanted to grow old with him ever since he first saved Steve from that bully in the schoolyard so long ago. This was a goddamn dream come true. They had both been through hell and neither of them were the same, but at least they were still together.

"Are you kidding me?" it came out as half a laugh, but he just wrapped his arms around his new fiancé and peppered him in affectionate kisses, "yes!"

"Really?" Bucky didn't need an answer to that. Steve holding him like this was answer enough, "...but, I don't have a ring."

"I don't care about that right now! Oh my God, this is...oh my _God_, I have to go book a venue, and I've never planned a wedding so we'll need one of those—we have to tell everybody now!" he knew he was ranting and took a second to calm down, "thats for later. Let's just enjoy ourselves for now."

They were getting married. This was actually going to happen.

* * *

**A/N—yeah...Stucky was too canon to NOT have them get married. And I also kinda blame tumblr for this one, but IDGAF I gotta go write THE BEST WEDDING EVER ! **


End file.
